Page 4 of Used Bratva Bride

I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that my father had more time for me, that he could see beyond his business and the immediate threats to our family.

The computer on my desk hums softly in the quiet of the room, its screen a blank canvas waiting for words. On impulse, I open my email and begin typing a message to my father. My fingers fly over the keys, driven by a mix of hope and hopelessness.

I pour everything into the email, explaining my business idea in detail, outlining how it could benefit not just me but our family’s reputation by diversifying our interests and supporting local communities.

I hit send, knowing full well the message might linger unread in his inbox, buried under a pile of more urgent matters. There’s a small relief in having said my piece, even if it’s only to the void of his email account.

Not long after, my phone rings, jarring me from my thoughts. It’s Sophia. My heart tightens. I’m not in the mood to talk, especially not about today’s failure, but I answer anyway, not wanting to add more tension to our already complicated relationship.

“Hey, Julie, how’s it going?” Sophia’s voice is cautious, a touch of curiosity laced with the formality that often characterizes our interactions.

I hesitate, torn between my desire to confront her and our father about how they’ve ignored my contributions andthe knowledge that I shouldn’t have been listening to their conversation. Choosing my words carefully, I decide to steer the conversation away from what I overheard. “I’m fine, just… Dad doesn’t seem to have time for anything that isn’t a crisis or directly related to the business.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when Sophia speaks again, her voice is softer, tinged with an awkward attempt at reassurance. “Julie, I know Dad can be… distant. He values your input, even if it doesn’t always seem that way.”

Her words are meant to comfort, but they fall flat, feeling more like a placation than a genuine understanding of my feelings. “Does he? It feels like he doesn’t even see me unless I’m part of a problem he needs to solve,” I reply, my voice low, the hurt evident despite my attempts to keep it under control.

Sophia sighs, and I can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose, a habit she falls back on when she’s frustrated or thinking deeply. “I know it’s hard. He’s got a lot on his plate with the business, especially now with… everything going on.”

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “I get that. It’s always about the business. I just thought… maybe this once, it could be about supporting me.”

There’s another pause, longer this time, filled with unspoken words and strained family dynamics. Finally, Sophia speaks, her tone more determined. “Listen, I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll make sure he reads your email and takes your idea seriously.”

“Thanks, Sophia,” I respond, a small smile touching my lips for the first time since this afternoon. Her offer to help is unexpected but welcome, a small beacon of sisterly support in the usual fog of our interactions.

“Of course. Hey, don’t let his mood today discourage you. You’ve got a great idea, and you deserve to be heard,” she adds, a hint of warmth breaking through her usual reserve.

The call ends on a more positive note than I expected, leaving me with a mixed sense of appreciation and skepticism. Sophia’s intentions are good, but whether they will translate into any real change remains to be seen.

I lean back in my chair, staring out the window at the darkening sky. The conversation with Sophia has eased some of the tightness in my chest, but the underlying issues remain. I’m still the outsider in a family defined by power and secrecy, still fighting for a place at the table.

Now, there’s a glimmer of hope, however faint. Maybe, just maybe, Sophia’s intervention could open a door for me, could help bridge the gap between my dreams and my father’s ambitions. It’s a slim chance, but it’s enough to keep the embers of my determination glowing in the gathering dark.

I close my laptop with a quiet sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples in an attempt to ease the dull headache forming behind my eyes. I’ve done all I can for today. There’s no point in obsessing over something I can’t control, no matter how much I want my father to finally acknowledge me.

Standing up, I methodically pack up my notes, stacking the folder neatly on my desk before slipping my laptop into its case. I tell myself I’ll try again another day. Maybe when things settle down—if they ever settle down—he’ll be more receptive. Or maybe Sophia really will follow through and convince him to listen.

Either way, I’m not giving up.

Sophia and I have always had a strange relationship. We’re sisters, but not in the traditional sense. Being half sisterscreates a certain distance, one neither of us fully, acknowledges but both of us feel. Sophia has always been the golden child, the one our father truly invested in, the one he sees as his legacy. And me? I’m the extra piece that never quite fits into the carefully built Spade empire.

I’ve learned to live with that. There’s always this lingering feeling that Sophia knows more than I do—about the business, about our father, about the world we’re both a part of but experience in vastly different ways. Sometimes I think she pities me for not being more like her. Other times, I wonder if she’s trying to shield me from things I’ll never fully understand.

As I leave my room and head toward the staircase, my feet slow of their own accord. I glance toward my father’s office, the heavy door slightly ajar. A familiar tension settles in my chest, but before I can talk myself out of it, I step forward, rapping my knuckles lightly against the wood.

He doesn’t look up immediately. His desk is cluttered with documents, phone in hand, fingers flipping through pages while he listens to someone on the other end of the line. I wait, shifting on my feet, before he finally acknowledges me with a flick of his gaze.

“Julie,” he says, his voice clipped. “What is it?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat, forcing my tone to remain steady. “Did you get my email?”

His expression barely changes. “I saw it.” A pause. “I’ll look it over.”

He’s already glancing back at the papers in front of him, clearly preoccupied, clearly saying whatever will get me out of the room the fastest.

I nod, even though I know he won’t. “Okay.”

I step back, leaving without another word. The door clicks shut behind me, and with it, any lingering hope I had that today would be different.

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